


Wanderings with Werewolves

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: i was reading chamber of secrets and felt the need to write how this scene must have played out, like what if lockhart actually went investigating and ran into remus?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and – zap – just fantastic.’” (Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets). In which Gilderoy Lockhart gets into conversation with a certain werewolf while trapped inside a telephone box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderings with Werewolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skindyedblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skindyedblue/gifts).



> This one-shot is for my dear friend Ali for her birthday! Happy Birthday! I'm so glad you chose to celebrate it in such a wonderful way! I wish you all the happiness on your special day <3

The sun was beginning to set over a tiny, quiet village in Armenia. The yellow and orange glow of the sun beamed down over sturdy brick houses and ploughed fields. On any other afternoon, the streets were filled with the laughter of playing children and the smell of dinners cooking. But fear had spread across the families that lived there. For four months now, when the moon was full, a foul creature (or creatures) had taken to roaming the village, snatching children and killing livestock. Several children had gone missing now and families were frightened for the ones that remained, locking them up inside as soon as the sun began to fall to the horizon.

    But a man had arrived that morning. He introduced himself with a dazzling smile as Gilderoy Lockhart. He was attractive and asked a lot of important-sounding questions, particularly about the werewolf that was causing such grief upon the neighbourhood.

    “Werewolf?” the villagers whispered back at him. No one dared actually say it aloud. Werewolves were nothing but stories told to frighten children.

    The reality of them frightened adults much more, however, and their denial towards the existence of such creatures was very adamant. No one was prepared to admit it was actually a werewolf, though all the signs pointed to it.

    But Gilderoy Lockhart claimed to know how to get rid of it. He looked quite convincing too; he had mistletoe hung around his neck and a box of silver bullets in his bag. But there was much doubt in the hearts of the people who lived in this village. They feared nothing could stop this terrible monster.

    Lockhart, however, was determined. At least, that’s how he seemed to everyone else. Truthfully, he was only there to investigate, not undergo any pest-control. It was a full moon that night and he was no half-witted to hang around when it rose.

    He was doing rounds of the village, inspecting the residents to see if they beared any signs of lycanthropy. He wondered if he _could_ remove the werewolf before it transformed that night. It would certainly save him a great deal of trouble where his plan was concerned. But, this hope was very quickly subdued as all the families seemed perfectly normal, if a bit mortified by his bold words.

    His last stop was a small, white brick house tucked away in the corner of the village. Derelict and smeared in graffiti, it sat alongside a rusty old telephone box that no one was brave enough to use. It was very secluded and, when Lockhart asked the neighbours about it, they insisted that no one was living there. One woman did say that voices could sometimes be heard during the night, and that occasionally the window on the right side would open a crack. But she claimed it was simply haunted because no one ever went in or went out. Lockhart firmly believed that this was the werewolf's hideout.

    He approached the house without hesitation, though his knees trembled with fright. People were watching him through slits in their curtains, curious to see if anyone would come to the door, and if they did, who it might be.

    But Lockhart knocked and knocked and he called out several times, but no one came to answer him. He couldn’t hear any movement inside, either. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. This was good news, however, for it indicated someone (or something) must have locked it.

    Lockhart was no fool. While he could easily force his way in with magic, he wasn’t about to reveal himself to an entire community of Muggles, nor face whatever might be waiting for him inside the house. He navigated himself around it, peering through windows and stumbling through the tall grass. All the curtains were shut and the back door was locked as well, though enormous bags of rubbish outside offered even more evidence of habitation.

    Lockhart came around the front and knocked again. Nothing.

    “Do you need help?”

    Lockhart very nearly shrieked in terror as a figure appeared suddenly beside him, tall and heavily cloaked despite the warmth of spring.

    “Er – um – I –” Lockhart stammered pathetically, trying to gather what little courage he had. “Do you know who lives here?”

    “No one lives here,” said the figure hoarsely.

    “Then, no, thank-you, I don’t need any help.”

    “Are you here about the werewolves?” The husky voice belonged to a man, and Lockhart detected a slight Scottish accent. This was curious as no one here knew English very well, much less had an accent from a country that spoke it. 

    “So what if I am?” Lockhart said proudly, stepping to the side to try and peer once more through a gap in the curtains of the window.

    The man laughed, low and rasping.  

    Lockhart turned on him. “What’s so funny?” he demanded angrily.

    “You? Take on a pack of werewolves? I can’t wait to see you try.”

    Lockhart went red, but stood his ground.

    “You don’t know me! I have skills that no ordinary man has,” he said, drawing himself up.

    “What, like magic?” The man took out a wand from beneath his cloak. He pointed it upwards and a few sparks flew out of it, glittering in the twilight sky.

    Lockhart took a step back, spluttering. He reached for his own wand.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the stranger warned, pointing his wand to Lockhart now. He stepped forward to close the gap between them. “You should never upset a werewolf when he is a man, lest he goes on the hunt for you first.”

    Lockhart swallowed. So much for not being able to find the culprit; it had found him! Had he walked into a trap?

    “Who are you?”

    Lockhart took a few more steps back, desperate for some distance. The stranger let out a soft chuckle, but lowered his hood to reveal his face. He was a thin man in his mid-twenties with tousled sandy hair tied back in a short ponytail. He looked tired. Dark circles framed his eyes as though he had not slept properly for weeks. It took Lockhart a moment, but he recognised him as a boy from Hogwarts, who had left when Lockhart had been in his third year.

    “I know you!” he cried. “You went to Hogwarts!”

    The man smirked, and Lockhart was finally able to name him as Remus Lupin, one of the boys belonging to that gang who had called themselves the ‘Marauders.’ Stupid name, really. But they had been mischief-makers alright. And Lockhart never would have pinned _Lupin_ to be a werewolf. He had been sick often, yes, but he had always been awfully nice to other students. Lockhart remembered once asking him for help to get a book down from a particularly high shelf in the library. Could it be that this gentle man was in fact the monthly monster inflicting such terror on the small village?

    Lupin eyed Lockhart with interest, as though understanding he was now recognised. Lockhart backed away some more, but collided with the old telephone box, the frame digging into his spine.

    “Why are you skulking around here?” Lupin asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets casually and looking at Lockhart. “No offence, but you’re not really a match for werewolves.”

    “How would you know?” Lockhart snarled bravely.

    “You’re soft,” Lupin whispered as he backed Lockhart up against the phone box. “I bet the meat slides right off your bones.”

    Lockhart felt a shiver run down his spine, but he held onto his nerve, curling his fingers around his wand. Lupin was still just a man. Maybe he could get some information from him.

    “Well, you're the reason I'm here. Why are _you_ skulking around?” he said.

    Lupin looked at the little house to his right, surveying it with a hint of disgust.

    “Laying low. It’s not easy being a werewolf these days, you know,” he said.

    “But why are you attacking the village?” Lockhart demanded.

    “We can’t _help it_ ,” Lupin said savagely.

    “We?” Lockhart repeatedly weakly.

    “I did say a pack, didn’t I? Werewolves survive in numbers; we have to stick together,” Lupin said sourly.

    The sun had set now and a grey gloaming stretched across the sky, making Lockhart increasingly nervous. He didn’t fancy sticking around long enough for Lupin (or any other werewolves) to transform – particularly when he was standing in front of him.

    “Well, lovely chat, but I best be off,” Lockhart said as nonchalantly as he could.

    He made to step around Lupin, but he was cut off immediately and directed right into the telephone box, the glass walls hindering any escape. Lockhart kept his hand tight around his wand, but he was afraid to do magic in case any of the Muggles saw it and drove him off. His plan wouldn’t work if he didn’t make a good impression.

    “If you’re here to get rid of us, why the hurry to leave?” Lupin sneered, his eyes flashing with amusement.

    “Well, I’m not quite prepared to fight werewolves at the moment. I didn’t expect to stay so long and I left a lot of supplies at the inn,” Lockhart said very fast, breathing heavily.

    “But you seem quite prepared to me,” Lupin said quietly. He extended a hand and took the wreath of mistletoe that hung around Lockhart’s neck, slinging it around his own. He laughed. “Muggles have the strangest superstitions, don’t they? No doubt you have silver bullets to shoot me with?”

    Lockhart’s heart was beating very fast. What was he supposed to do? If Lupin kept this up for much longer, he would transform. Lockhart was not really in a good position to have a werewolf transform right now. And this was not helped by the fact that he didn’t actually know how to kill one. And he hadn’t expected to, either. Monster or not, he didn’t have the skill or courage to slaughter another living thing.

    Lupin seemed to catch onto this. His eyes, which looked slightly glazed-over, flickered to the sky where the last remnants of daylight were finally dissipating. He smirked again.

    “I should probably let you go, but honestly if I had to bite someone out of all the people here…”

    Lockhart let out a small whimper before he could stop himself. Lupin laughed again.

    Deciding that was the final straw, Lockhart drew his wand at last and pointed it threateningly at the other man, rolling back his shoulders.

    “Look here,” he spat furiously. “If you – if you don’t get out of my way...!”

    “What? You’ll cast a hologram of my face into the sky? I’m honestly so glad I got to witness that before I left Hogwarts. I heard you sent yourself _eight-hundred_ Valentine’s Day cards the year after.” Lupin looked as though he was going to cry with laughter.

    Just then, there was a sudden _bang_ and the door of the little brick house burst open. Lupin stopped laughing, his expression hard. He and Lockhart watched as a group of people emerged from the house, all of them looking very dirty and menacing in appearance. There were at least a dozen of them, all of various shapes and colours. One man had very sharp teeth, and there was a girl who couldn’t be older than seventeen. She stretched her long limbs next to another girl with wild blonde hair.

    “Oi, Lupin, who’s this?” one of them said, glaring at Lockhart.

    “Old school friend,” Lupin said absently, glancing back at Lockhart. “He thinks he can get rid of us.”

    Howls of laughter erupted from the people. Quite literally howls; some of them sounded very wolfish in their merriment. The young girl in particular had thrown back her head. Lupin grinned at them.

    “My extended family. Would you like to meet them?”

    Lockhart could not speak. He simply gaped at them, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed with the task he had tried to take on.

    “Are you coming?” the blonde girl asked Lupin.

    “Yeah, I’ll catch you guys up,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Lockhart.

    There was a nod of agreement from the others and they all set off down the hill. The man with sharp teeth grinned ferociously at Lockhart, waving goodbye as though to a friend.

    “Where are you going?” Lockhart said bravely.

    “Away from the village,” said Lupin, as though this was obvious. “We don’t kill because it’s fun. We’ve tried to stay away as much as we can.”

    “But why live here at all?” Lockhart argued. “Why not live in the woods or something?”

    “Because we’re human beings and like somewhere nice to sleep, even if it’s a dump like this.” Lupin gestured to the house vaguely.

    “But what about the children you’ve taken? All those poor people you’ve hurt!”

    Lupin’s brow furrowed at this. “Children?” he said slowly. “We haven’t taken anyone. We go to the woods and don’t leave until sunrise.”

    “Well in your werewolf state you must not be thinking clearly and coming back to eat people!” Lockhart said shrilly.

    “Oh, and you’d know?” Lupin growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “We might not be in our right minds, but we can control ourselves enough not to hurt people! And since we are so many, we don’t think about food. If someone is taking children, it isn’t us.”

    Lockhart stared at him, lost for words. Could it be possible he was telling the truth? Could a dozen savage werewolves really be innocent? If they weren’t taking the children, who was?

    Lupin shot Lockhart a very critical look and then finally backed away from the phone box, averting his gaze down the hill where distant chatter was slowly quietening. He sighed.

    “You should leave. Surely you have better things to do than mess around in the affairs of werewolves.”

    Lockhart was tempted to agree. The thought of a long, warm bath back at the inn was becoming more and more a far better thing to do than hang around a spooky village.

    Before he left, however, he turned back to Lupin and said; “Where are your friends? Didn’t you have those weird friends at school? Are they werewolves too?”

    Lupin’s face went very white, his eyes growing wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but then fell silent again. Shaking his head, he headed down the hill and out of sight.

    Shrugging, Lockhart hurried back through the village, daring occasional looks to the sky for any signs of the moon. He had been through quite an ordeal, he thought. Perhaps it was best if someone else handled it from here.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i might expand on this... it does say /wanderings/ after all. And I think we ought to solve the mystery of the missing children, no?


End file.
